


Before I Fall Asleep Forever (I'm trying to find meaning in this life)

by orphan_account



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, M/M, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, alot of references to the moon, kind of sad, life hurts sometimes, not really a plot, oh well here it is anyway, slight hurt but not much comfort, this rlly isnt anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 07:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The moon looked down across the lake, soft light illuminating the now bare patch of ground that had for so long held two lonely, misplaced puzzle pieces.





	Before I Fall Asleep Forever (I'm trying to find meaning in this life)

The sound of gravel crunching under footsteps broke the stillness. Minho turned his head slightly, a small smile tugging on his lips as the pale light from the moon softly illuminated the approaching figure. The stranger stopped beside Minho, dropping a slightly worn out messenger bag into the grass before gently lowering himself down beside it, seated himself crosslegged. 

“Hi Jisung.”

A soft smile pulled across the figure’s heart-shaped lips. 

“Hey Minho.” 

Jisung adjusted himself so his position mimicked Minho; knees pulled up to his chest, head resting on his crossed arms. His dark eyes studied Minho for a second before he directed his attention to his discarded bag and pulled out a can, twisting the top off before speaking.

“There’s another one in there, if you want it.”

Minho waved the offer off, simply staring at the sharp grass blades pricking at the exposed skin of his ankles as if it somehow held the answers to his restless heart.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

Jisung’s voice gently broke through his thoughts. He always cut to the chase, never bothering to skirt around topics. It could be both a blessing and a curse, Minho decided.

 

Minho hummed. “Not in particular.”

 

It had always been like this. Minho could barely remember when it started, the night detours to the lake, sitting and talking about everything and nothing. When dawn came, it was an unspoked promise to never mention any of the words and unfinished sentences that were released into the chilly night breeze. The moon’s silver reflection shimmered across the surface of the lake, and Minho found the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the shore to be a calming rhythm. Jisung would always be there, soda in his hand - drinking less than half of it on nights when he talked, and the nights when he didn’t- opting to simply watch the moon glint across the water and listen to Minho ramble into the chilly air – about a forth would be left. Jisung never finished the drink, and Minho never asked why. It was an odd dynamic, yet one neither of them seemed to mind or question. 

 

“You know-” Once again Jisung’s voice startled Minho as he glanced over at the boy. The muted white light from the moon softly highlighted the straight bridge of Jisung’s nose and the gentle slope of his cheeks, reflecting into his midnight eyes and creating little galaxy pools inside them. Minho knew better though, knew it was merely an illusion. It was only on nights like this - where Jisung would quietly join Minho by the lakeshore, the two of them simply existing on the same plane - that he let the tiredness bleed out into his eyes, leaving the moon to try its best to replace the bright sparkle they once held.

Jisung was tired, that much Minho knew, but it was more than just a physical ache. 

Jisung never mentioned much about his feelings, or not in so many words, but Minho knew he was carrying a lot of burdens that someone his age should never have to worry about. The sad truth was that most people his age did end up carrying them, without anyone to share the load and make it easier. Minho wished he could do something to help but never mentioned it to Jisung, knowing the younger tried his best not to let his mind linger on them, which is what lead to the late nights that bled into early morning meetups, grassblades twisted between trembling fingers and half-finished soda cans.

Minho didn’t want to go home, and Jisung needed a distraction.

They fit each other like pieces from two seperate puzzles that somehow managed to connect yet would never end up staying together -each eventually being placed into the puzzle that was fit for them.

 

Minho knew Jisung didn’t need him. There were other things Jisung could do, other people he could go to who could provide the same quiet presence that Minho did. As for Minho, he had nowhere else to go but the lake, watching the small waves lap at his toes inches away, twisting overgrown grass blades between bruised fingers until they eventually snapped. 

 

“-This was the last pack at the convenience store. That one kid I was telling you about awhile back, who works part time there? Well, he asked me why I keep buying these. Kind of a dumb question, really. Can’t do anything in this society without being judged or criticized by someone.” 

It was one of those nights. The ones where Jisung would talk, letting small things roll off his chest yet taking special care to never mention anything more. Sometimes the conversation dynamic would shift halfway through, with Minho staring out over the water as he talked about a new dance his crew learned, how he felt like he was still inferior to them despite being in the advanced group. Jisung would quietly listen, sipping on his soda every now and then, nodding along, sometimes adding in a comment if he felt like it.

 

“I quit the dance group.”

The words left Minho’s mouth without thinking, accidentally cutting Jisung off mid-breath.  
Jisung’s dark eyes simply studied him, not saying a word. There was no judgment or confusion in them, just a simple flash that was almost gone before Minho noticed it. 

“Why? You’re an amazing dancer.” 

Minho shrugged, dropping the small grassflower he had plucked into the shallow water by his feet, watching it get pulled further into the dark ripples. 

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I know I’m in the same level as the rest but I’m just not good enough. I practice the same as the others, but I don’t know; I guess the passion is slipping. It’s okay though.”

Leaving the dance crew meant Minho suddenly had time on his hands, which he spent wandering aimlessly down streets with only glowing neon signs and lanterns to prove light, smoke curling around the darker corners. He would quietly slip into his dark house, spending just enough time to grab a light jacket and wash his hair before walking to the lake to meet with Jisung. The moon provided its faint lighting to his path, although by this point Minho had the way so engrained in him that he could do it in pitch blackness.

 

Jisung simply closed his eyes, humming in understanding.

 

Days slipped by as the season slowly changed, the cool spring breeze giving way to warm summer nights. Weeks slipped by in an instant, Minho only going back to his house when the moon had slowly faded into the pale dawn sky, leaving streaks of pink and yellow splashed across the sky. 

But as the seasons changed, so did the nights spent watching the shimmering ripples of the water, half empty soda cans and torn grassblades littering the ground. Jisung wouldn’t come more often than not, and Minho would simply stare out across the expanse of the lake, mind slipping into the murky depths.

 

And then one week Jisung didn’t come at all. 

 

 

The weeks bled into months, months into nearly a year. The grass around the lakeshore grew back, allowing weeds to grow over an old soda can, its once bright red faded so badly that it was barely visible, hiding it from the gentle touch of a soft breeze that carried a hint of spring with it. 

The moon looked down across the lake, soft light illuminating the now bare patch of ground that had for so long held two lonely, misplaced puzzle pieces.

 

 

Minho found himself dancing again - only not at the studio anymore. He earned what he made, pulling his now thick jacket further around himself as he took the longer route home, going through back streets so thick with smoke and flashing neon lights that the moonlight couldn’t reach through. 

When the grassblades started to be replaced by ashes falling out of a lit cancer stick twisted between delicate fingers, there was no one around to ask the dancer why.

 

 

Until one late night Minho got a text, smoke curling around his body. The notification from an unknown number lit up the screen, catching Minho’s eye as he stuffed a roll of cash into his jacket pocket.

 

_Can you come to the lake? ___

__

__For the first time in months, Minho’s steps made their way down the beaten path, the pale moonlight bathing him in it’s welcoming glow._ _

__With every step, Minho felt regret. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe properly, recognizing the once bare patch of grass - his foot hitting a rusted soda can._ _

__

__Minho sat down next to the figure in the overgrown weeds, avoiding the old, beaten up messenger bag laying beside them. The light glinted off a ring on the figure’s hand as they raised it to greet Minho, then dropped it as if thinking better of the idea._ _

__

___“Hey Minho.”_ __

__

____ _ _

__

____And Minho knew he shouldn’t have come._ _ _ _

__

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhh so I know I promised a sequel of Of Funnel Cakes and Churros, and I am working on it but I just had to get some stuff off my chest so this questionable work was produced first. I feel like I need to mention that I am not a writer so I'm not good at word stuff, especially with expressing emotions through words. I didn’t bother to edit this either, so forgive me if it doesn’t flow very well, woops


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